


pull you from the tide

by writer_on_fire01



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/F, Fishing, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Season/Series 01, Pre-Femslash, Sharing a Bed, Shippy Gen, fish guts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29391207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writer_on_fire01/pseuds/writer_on_fire01
Summary: Meredith drags Cristina, George, Alex, and Izzie off on an impromptu fishing trip with her. The idea is that they're going to have fun, but Meredith can't seem to get her mind out of the hospital.
Relationships: Meredith Grey & Cristina Yang, Meredith Grey & George O'Malley, Meredith Grey/Cristina Yang
Comments: 7
Kudos: 8





	pull you from the tide

**Author's Note:**

> So the Cristina/Meredith here is fairly minor, to the point where it could be read as gen if you don't like this ship for whatever reason. I tagged it anyways because I wrote this as if, were this part of a larger story in which they were endgame, this is how far into their relationship they would be at this point in the series (smushed between seasons 1 and 2). Hope that makes sense :) 
> 
> Also, I wrote this a little while ago, before I even watched season 2, so if I ever said anything that's contradictory to a statement made post season 1 or anybody is a little out of character that would be why.
> 
> Title stolen from the song Line Without A Hook by Ricky Montgomery, which is a suuuper good song btw. 
> 
> That's it. Happy reading!

“Say what you want, Meredith, but I think this is ridiculous.” Cristina stares, affronted, at the clear blue lake in front of the two of them. 

“C’mon, you grump.” Meredith heaves a large canvas bag from the back of a pickup truck she’d rented.

“I still don’t get why we needed a pickup,” grumbles Cristina. She’s sitting, hunched over herself, in front of the lake.

“It’s good for the vibe.”

“The _I’m your father and we’re bonding, damn it_ vibe?” Cristina presses. 

“Something like that.” Meredith throws the fishing bag over her shoulder, smiling. The interns have been due for a break for a while, hence her suggestion that they go on a fishing trip together. 

Everybody had thought the idea ridiculous; of course, once George had agreed, nobody had wanted to miss out. Which is how the five interns had found themselves crammed into a pickup truck with four seats, Cristina’s motorcycle, rice, a cooler full of beers, and Meredith’s fishing bag, hurtling at a speed higher than is strictly advisable towards a cozy cabin by the lake.

George is taking a nap in the cabin while Alex and Izzie explore the town, leaving Cristina burdened with the task of fulfilling Meredith’s lifelong dream of fishing with a good friend by a scenic lake and having a heartfelt conversation (Cristina’s lifelong nightmare). 

“I still think you’re just trying to heal childhood scars,” Cristina continues, unprompted. “If you’d really wanted to go fishing with Daddy Grey back in the day I’m sure you could have asked.” 

“Shut up.” Meredith says it with a teasing smile, taking a seat on the shore with the fishing bag.

“George would have done this with you, you know.” Cristina pulls off a sandal (the fact that she even knows what sandals are is news to Meredith) and dips her foot in the water.

“See? It’s nice.” 

“It’s _cold.”_

“It’s not a hospital.” 

“You’ve got me there.” Cristina shrugs, looking absentmindedly into the water. 

“Look, Cristina.” Meredith follows suit, fumbling with a double-knotted shoelace before finally giving up and plucking her tennis shoe off of her foot by the heel. “I know you’d rather be back in Seattle, working the holiday, but you need a break. You’re always overexerting yourself.” 

“It’s sort of my thing,” Cristina says. “Plus, I could have gotten some serious clout with the attendings.”

“Or you could forget about work for _one day_ and rent a kayak with me. So that we can paddle into the sunset and talk about our feelings _.”_

Cristina cringes back in disgust at the very suggestion, despite it having been a clear joke.

“You’re already wearing sandals,” Meredith presses. “You can hardly sink any lower than that.” 

Cristina rolls her eyes right as Meredith’s cell, tucked in her front pocket, sounds out in a shrill, annoying ring. 

_Dr. Shepherd,_ reads the screen (upon learning of Derek’s scandalous marital status, Meredith had changed his contact from _Derek_ to _Dr. Shepherd_ at the speed of light). 

“Ick.” Cristina grabs for Meredith’s phone, the latter keeping it just out of reach. “Let me throw it in the lake.” 

“No,” Meredith insists. “I’ve gotta take it. What if it’s something doctor-y?” 

“Then it’s really too bad he’s a cheating adulterer. What happened to that bull about us needing a break, anyways?” 

At this point, Meredith is truly worried for the safety of her phone, so she places it on the ground besides her and holds up her hands in defeat. “Okay, okay. _Not_ talking to McDreamy. You happy?” 

“Very.” Cristina reaches over Meredith’s lap, grabs the device, and flicks it into _silence_ mode before burying it in that purse of hers. 

Meredith scowls. “You evil, evil, woman.”

“Bite me.” 

***

“Anyone else get a call from Dr. McDreamy?” Alex waves his cell carelessly in the air.

Meredith frowns. “So you mean that wasn’t just me?” 

“And you say you don’t expect special treatment,” scoffs Alex, sliding closer to Meredith. He’s leaning against the cabin’s dining table. Meredith vaguely regrets having chosen to stand within a six foot radius of him.

“Shut up, Alex,” orders Izzie, glowering at him. “If you must know, I did, too. It seemed pretty serious. He says the hospital’s backed up. He wants us to haul ass back over there.” 

This catches Meredith’s attention. “What did you tell him?”

“That I was on my vacation.” Izzie shrugs. “So what if we can’t take the whole summer? I argue that we’re entitled to these stupid one week breaks every once in a while. That’s what I told Dr. Shepherd. More politely, of course. But I think he got the idea.” 

Meredith frowns, shifting her weight from her right foot to the left. “Huh. Maybe I should call him back.” 

“I agree,” Izzie declares. “You also need to call him back.” She points to Alex. “So do Cristina and George, if they haven’t already. We’ve got to at least stay in contact if we expect to not get booted from the surgery gig.”

“I would.” Meredith cringes down at the floor. “It’s just…” 

“He’s also your ex-boyfriend,” supplies Alex.

“Yeah. That. I’m here to fish. Not worry about my boss slash ex-boyfriend, thank you very much.” 

“Tough.” Alex throws his head back, tipping the bottle of beer he’s been working on into his mouth in a steady trickle. He misses, and some of it dribbles down his chest. 

“Pathetic,” says Izzie, flicking playfully at Alex’s arm. She wears a light smirk. Alex pouts. 

“You two,” Meredith mutters as she directs herself towards her and Cristina’s room of the cabin. 

Since it’s a rather small cabin, the interns have to share rooms with one another. There’s an odd number of them, which means that the ever-fortunate Izzie gets a room of her own (because there’s no way in hell Meredith would make the mistake of letting her room with Alex). This leaves Alex with George and Meredith with Cristina.

After a long battle, fought quite valiantly by both parties, Cristina gets the room’s bed and Meredith gets a sleeping bag on the floor. She remembers the conversation. 

“We could always put a spare mattress in the back of the pickup,” George had suggested in hopes of curbing the violence. Always the pacifist, that guy. “So someone could sleep there. Some people do that when they camp.” 

“Awful idea,” Alex had dismissed instantly. “Too many creepy crawlies. Nobody’s sleeping outside, O’Malley.” 

Izzie had seemed to consider it. “We could always get a truck shell.”

“For a truck we’re only keeping for a week?” Cristina had eyed Izzie distastefully at the suggestion.

“Yeah, nevermind, I’m just full of bad ideas,” Izzie had deadpanned.

“So.” Cristina had narrowed her eyes dangerously at Meredith. “Rock paper scissors?” 

The rest of the interns had left pretty soon after that. Probably in fear. 

Technically, Meredith had won. Such trivial issues have never stopped Cristina Yang short in her reign of terror. Honestly, Meredith had never expected that Cristina would actually let her take the bed or even share it, but she’d put up an adamant fight anyways.

Meredith walks into the room to find Cristina laying flat on the bed, seemingly deep in thought. Meredith ignores her, instead opting to advance towards her sleeping bag. She’s just considering ways to get into Cristina’s purse and take back her phone when Cristina speaks. 

“It can’t be easy.” 

“Having a boss who’s also my ex-boyfriend?”

“Nah. Been there, done that. A hassle, sure, but it’s really not _that_ bad. I’m talking about the thing with your mom.”

For a moment, Meredith freezes. Cristina can’t know, can she? Meredith can’t think of a single way she could have found out. Maybe she had answered Meredith’s phone only for it to have been a call about her mother. 

“W-what do you mean?” Meredith stammers, deciding to play dumb until she gets a confirmation of her suspicions. 

“Pretty big boots to fill,” Cristina continues. Meredith instantly relaxes, although she’s still puzzled.

“Since when have you wanted to talk about my feelings? That’s not the Cristina I know.”

“Since I got drunk.” Cristina gestures towards an empty beer bottle on her side table. Now that she mentions it, she _does_ sound a little tipsy. “Thought it would help me to forget about work. I was wrong. All it really did was send me into an existential crisis. Not the point.” 

Meredith considers. “Yeah, I s’pose it is hard,” she says at last. “Not too much to handle, though. I couldn’t have gotten through med school if I were weak.”

“You are strong,” Cristina acknowledges. 

Meredith forces her features into a smile. It feels like she’s lying. Lying about being strong, but also lying about the great, almighty Ellis Grey. “Thanks. That means a lot, coming from you.” 

Cristina just shrugs. It’s a bit awkward, what with her lying down, but it gets the point across fairly well. 

“I can’t find out what makes you tick,” Cristina confesses. “Everybody has something.” 

“Tick?” Meredith sits up, peering up and onto the bed. “How do you mean?” 

“You know. Pressure points. Trump cards. Your Achilles heel. Whatever you wanna call it. What breaks Meredith Grey?”

“It’s a little concerning that this is something you’re thinking extensively about,” says Meredith. “Do you really want to break me?”

“Nah. Not unless you break me first, anyways.” Cristina grasps at the beer bottle on the side table. Then she realizes that it’s already empty, scowls, and releases it from her hand and back onto the table. It lands with a loud clanking noise. Meredith can’t help but wonder how many of those she’s had. 

***

One of the perks of going on a fishing trip with a bunch of surgeons is that nobody is phased by the gutting of the fish. Or so you’d think. 

George looks down at his fish as though it is his greatest enemy, knife clasped in his hand so tightly that his knuckles have gone white. “I wish I had a scalpel,” he grumbles.

Meredith laughs at this. “Loosen your grip,” she advises. 

Turning back to her own fish, Meredith pulls a Swiss Army knife from her pocket and flicks a blade out the side. 

The thing is very, very dead. It’s the first thing Meredith notices when she turns her gaze to it. When you’re a surgeon, you _know_ dead, know it well. It’s very different from almost dead or dying or asleep (although maybe not so different from a coma). 

“Wow, Meredith, you really caught a lot of fish,” George comments. 

“I did, didn’t I?” Meredith looks down at the bucket full of ice water and fish she has produced. The bodies look slick. Their mouths are wide open from the fishing hooks. “Cristina helped.” 

“And by that you mean she caught one or two and decided she was bored,” George concludes.

“More or less.” 

“Next time try making it into a competition.”

This is an idea which Meredith had thought up herself at the time. Unfortunately her acting chops are not up to par. “Tried. She saw right through it.”

“So you caught most of these?” George asks, gesturing towards the bucket. It is emitting a smell which would be unbelievably gross if not for Meredith having gone noseblind to fish long ago. 

“You bet. Why?” 

“I sort of thought that you were exaggerating the whole thing about how much you love fishing. Just because you don’t seem like the kind of person.”

“Why not, because I’m female?” George is assaulted with an accusatory glance.

“No, no,” backtracks George in a rush, blushing slightly. “I just meant…” 

“Pulling your leg, George. Don’t worry about it.” George visibly relaxes at this. 

Meredith turns back to the task at hand. She digs her fingernails into the top of the fish to secure it, then digging the blade of her knife into the edge of the thing. She can feel when it has penetrated the skin. 

George looks at Meredith expectantly, so Meredith slides the knife along the side of the fish. It makes a sickeningly wet slicing noise, and then the fish’s belly has been slit. She digs a hand into the slimy thing, and…

“This feels wrong,” Meredith announces. 

“I’m sure we can go to the local tackle shop and get somebody to teach us to do it,” George suggests immediately, seeming eager to help. “I mean, you’d think it would be easier for us. But if it’s not, that’s okay too--”

“I know how to gut a fish,” Meredith cuts him off. “I love fishing.”

“Oh.” 

“But this still feels wrong,” continues Meredith. The bridge of her nose wrinkles in frustration. “I mean, usually when we cut things open, it’s to save lives. Not to...eat fish. I don’t even like seafood that much.” 

“Oh,” George says again. He seems mildly surprised by the declaration. “I mean, they’re already dead.”

“Exactly.” Glowering at her fish, Meredith throws the fish gut covered knife down to the wooden table. “I killed all of these fish, George. Jesus. I’m a monster.”

“You’re not a monster,” George protests. He puts a slimy, fishy hand on Meredith’s wrist in what’s probably supposed to be a placating gesture. “This is the old you. It’s how you used to relax. If you don’t like it anymore, you don’t have to keep fishing. That’s okay.”

Logically, Meredith knows that George is probably right; she’s been the end of dozens of fish in her lives, but in her time as a surgeon, she’s probably saved just as many human lives. Killing a couple of fish won’t have Immanuel Kant rising from the dead just to gasp in horror at the injustice, especially since she intends to have Izzie cook and serve them with rice later. Besides, this can be the end of her fishing career if she chooses.

But then there’s Moral Philosophy Meredith, staring over her shoulder and saying, _look at all the death. You did that._

“I can handle it,” Meredith decides firmly. She slides her hand back into the fish and produces a handful of guts, which she then proceeds to throw into the allocated _fish guts_ bowl. 

“If you’re sure.” George doesn’t sound convinced. That’s alright; Meredith doesn’t need to convince George, she needs to convince herself. 

***

Meredith sits by the lake, shaking as she listens to Derek’s messages, having finally bothered to steal her phone back from Cristina. Now she’s wishing she hadn’t. There are two: 

_“Meredith, I’m calling on business. We need you and the other interns back. We wouldn’t be asking if it weren’t an emergency, but there’s been an epidemic of pot and cocaine laced with high doses of strychnine. Not all the cases are strictly surgical, but the hospital is crowded and we need all the help we can get. We’re really up to our elbows. Please call back.”_

In that message, Derek uses his professional voice. In the next, he does not: 

_“Meredith! I know you’re pissed, but you can’t run around putting our relationship--and fishing, fishing!--above our patients. You know what? It would be one thing if it were just you, but you had to drag the rest of the interns off, too. But this is bigger than us. This is about the patients. Too many of them are dying. I’m sorry I never told you about Addison, okay?! Swallow your pride and come back.”_

The sky is already dark, and Meredith’s eyes are stinging. She’s been really, really immature. Why would she let people _die_ just because she doesn’t want to talk to her ex-boyfriend? Even so, just hearing Derek’s voice pulls Meredith into a passionate, unadulterated fury that makes her want to scream into the open sky.

Meredith can’t believe that she’s sunk to this ridiculous a level of selfishness. Letting innocent patients pay the price for her own wrongdoings. Derek is right: it’s unacceptable. Not anything that Ellis Grey would ever do (at least, not before). 

“Stupid, selfish asshole, Meredith,” Meredith scolds herself with a sniff. None of this would ever have happened if she had just cut Derek off at the first sign of trouble, the first sign of trouble having been him being her _boss_. Then, struck with a sudden bolt of anger, she cocks her arm out and hurls her cell phone towards the water.

The weight leaves her hand with a sudden heft of her shoulder, and Meredith can feel the velocity. It must travel at least ten feet out, spinning through the air with a dramatic _whoosh._

It lands on the lake’s surface with a wet splash, then plummets under. Meredith regrets the action instantly. It had been childish. Meredith doesn’t usually act like a heartbroken seventeen year-old. _And yet,_ she thinks to herself.

It doesn’t really matter, though. All that matters now is that Meredith gets back to Seattle and does her best to make up for those poor, dying (and dead) patients. 

“Hey.”

Meredith jumps hearing the voice, so startled as to nearly follow her phone into the lake. She has to grasp at the muddy soil of the lake bed to keep in place. The toes of her tennis shoe dips into the frigid water, which does not waste a second in soaking through her sock. “Ack!” 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” says the voice. Now that Meredith has had more time to process it, it is inarguably Cristina’s. Meredith can hardly see her in the dark of the night, but she can feel her presence. Maybe it’s the way the air is slightly warmer around her, or maybe it’s just her voice. Either way, it’s comforting. 

Cristina’s silhouette is also vaguely visible. Meredith would recognize that figure anywhere: strong, self-assured. Broad enough to be cumbersome. Nimble all the same.

“So, uh, I know this isn’t really my area, but what’s up?” 

The ground shifts slightly beneath Meredith, an indicator that Cristina has taken a seat on the edge of the lack. “Laced coke…” Meredith sniffs. “...threw my phone in the lake…”

Cristina is, understandably, alarmed by this. She grabs Meredith by the arms, shaking her as she shouts, “Hey! What did you take? If you’re gonna use drugs, you’ve got to get them from a reputable source, you idiot! Shit, are you gonna die? Do I have to do an emergency surgery with that goddamned Swiss Army knife?” 

There’s an amused giggle between the tears as Meredith assures Cristina, “n-nothing like that. It’s back in Seattle.”

“Oh, good.” Cristina’s nails, which had been dug firmly into Meredith’s arm, ease away. Meredith suspects that when she gets back inside she will be able to see the marks in her skin. Cristina is still holding Meredith’s wrists, if a bit awkwardly. 

“Not for the people in Seattle, it’s not!” Meredith snaps. Then, she remembers that it’s hardly Cristina’s fault and anger shifts back into shame. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you, it’s just…” She trails off, using a hand to wipe the exhausted tears from under her eyes. 

“I know. You’re feeling guilty. But it’s not your fault some idiots took laced coke,” Cristina consoles Meredith. 

“Pot, too.”

“And pot,” Cristina amends.

“I’ve gotta get back there,” Meredith insists. She puts her feet to the ground in an attempt to heave herself back up to a standing position. This is an attempt which Cristina thwarts, still holding Meredith by the arms.

“No, you don’t. You’re on your break. No apologizing for that.” Her voice is calm but firm. Meredith can tell that she’s determined. 

“You d-don’t get it,” Meredith tells her in a rush.

“Oh, I don’t?” says Cristina flatly.

Meredith sighs, relenting and sagging defeatedly back to the ground. “I shouldn’t have thrown my phone in the lake,” she mumbles, shivering slightly with the cold.

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Cristina agrees. “But that’s okay. We’ll get you a new one. And by that, I mean you’ll get you a new one. Or the insurance company.”

“My insurance doesn’t cover this.” Meredith finds herself stating the obvious once more. 

“Let’s get you inside, alright?” An unsure hand lands between Meredith’s shoulder blades. “If you really care about the hospital and the strychnine and all that crazy shit, then you can drive back in your ridiculous pickup tomorrow. I’ll even come with you. You’ve got to stay the night here, though.”

Meredith nods shakily. She’s still feeling the slightest bit useless, but a little bit better.

“Damn,” she mumbles once she’s stood up. “Remind me why I wanted to be a surgeon? My boss is so hot that it’s ruining my life, people keep dying, I have to live up to the Grey name, and I can’t even enjoy a fishing trip!” Meredith’s voice rises a couple of octaves in her despair as she finishes. 

“Yeah, well, you know what? It’s a legally sanctioned excuse to cut people open, which is totally sick. No pun intended. But you know what’s even better? You also get to save those people. So it’s a win-win situation.”

Finally, they approach the sliding glass doors that lead into the cabin. Cristina takes the liberty of reaching out and pulling on the handle. Warm air rushes out. 

The two of them pass by Alex, Izzie, and George in the living room. They’re playing a card game on the wooden table. There’s a fourth hand flat on the wood where Meredith can only assume Cristina had been sitting before going to check on Meredith. The lights inside are too bright. Meredith winces. 

The three of them all look up when they hear the door open, only to look down just as hastily upon seeing Cristina’s death glare. Meredith can certainly appreciate as much, and then Meredith is being guided towards her and Cristina’s room of the cabin.

“So, I think I found out what makes you tick,” Cristina announces as she shuts the door gently.

“Oh?” 

“Guilt.” Cristina looks remarkably proud of herself, but there’s also a hint of something else. A sort of sadness. “Feeling useless.” 

“You, too?” Meredith guesses. Cristina just shrugs noncommittally.

Meredith notices for the first time in the light of the cabin that Cristina is wearing her pajamas. She’s got on a pair of dark gray sweatpants with the slightest bit of mud at the end of the legs. A light blue tank top makes up the top of the ensemble. Meredith feels a little bit bad; evidently, she’s thrown a monkey wrench into Cristina’s quiet evening. 

Meredith ducks her head down and begins something of a walk of shame towards her sleeping bag only to hear a loud exhalation of air from behind her. She turns around to see Cristina sighing heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. She’s sitting on her knees on the bed. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you’re pathetic,” she sighs, defeatedly gesturing towards the bed with her arms. “Come here.” 

Meredith smiles, wiping at her eyes one last time before triumphantly crawling into the bed next to Cristina, who looks fondly exasperated. 

It’s a rather surprising gesture, but not one that goes without appreciation. Meredith is certain that she would not sleep well in a sleeping bag tonight. The bed has a surprisingly comfortable mattress for being a part of a rental cabin in the middle of nowhere.

Cristina’s also there. Meredith has no idea when the two of them got this close, but she’s glad. At the end of the day, who really needs a Derek when one has a Cristina? Even if she turns out to be a blanket hog (which, knowing her, she probably is). 

“‘Night, Cristina.” 

“Goodnight,” Cristina grumbles before flicking out the lights. 

***

When Meredith walks back into the living room later that night for a glass of water, she sees George, shirt soaked through, looking completely and utterly exhausted. He holds a plastic bag full of rice and what looks to be...is that a phone? The sliding glass doors are wide open with a trail of water slopped along the path. The lights are still on. Izzie sits on the cabin’s couch and is nearly crying in her laughter, a hand over her mouth as she tries to keep quiet. She’s got a steaming mug of something or other in the other hand. 

Meredith decides that she likes her friends quite a bit.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated.


End file.
